


Such a Happy Mess

by trespresh



Series: I'm Half-Doomed, You're Semi-Sweet [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Drabble, Hickies, M/M, New Relationship, Secret Relationship, shmoopy sleepy idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trespresh/pseuds/trespresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, what’s his name?” Joe probes.</p><p>Barry’s smile falters, his eyebrow quirking at Joe’s intuition. “How’d you know?”</p><p>Joe gestures in Barry’s general direction. “Those aren’t your sweatpants,” he explains, and Barry stares at him, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. He has to remind himself that Joe doesn’t know—<i>can’t</i> know—exactly whose apartment he’s returning from.</p><p>+</p><p>(In which Barry stays the night at Len's, and gets caught sneaking in the next morning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such a Happy Mess

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little drabble as the relationship grows. These two, I swear.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Characters belong to the DC Universe, title belongs to (you guessed it) Fall Out Boy.

Not three weeks ago, Captain Cold had been his enemy. He’d wanted to break Leonard Snart’s teeth in for threatening Caitlin’s life, for torturing Cisco’s brother, for tormenting _his_ city. Given the chance, he would’ve locked Snart away in Iron Heights’ meta-human unit, despite Snart’s willingness to keep Barry’s identity a secret. The way he sees it, a thief is a thief, and a criminal is a criminal.

But three weeks can change a lot.

He now knows what Leonard Snart’s mouth tastes like, and how soft his bed sheets are. He’s memorized what kind of beer Len keeps in his fridge (and they’re on a nickname basis, for God’s sake, not that Barry will ever admit how Len can make his stomach flip over when he calls him “Bar” in a soft, private voice). The route to Len’s apartment—which is really more of a safe house, honestly, sparsely furnished but perfectly livable and somehow homey in a way Barry never would’ve thought to associate with the criminal mastermind—is now muscle memory for his feet.

He’s grown to like the scratch of Len’s morning stubble, the warmth of Len’s body tangled in the sheets next to him on the nights when Barry stays over—which is why it’s so hard to leave those following mornings.

The clock reads 6:47 a.m. one particular morning, and Barry groans into the pillow at the streaks of early sunshine peeking through the curtains. Len’s hand is warm and heavy where it rests across Barry’s shoulder blade, and he’s so comfortable, so warm, that it feels like a sin to throw the blankets off himself.

Len hums next to him, still half-asleep with his eyes closed, and mumbles, “Don’t go.”

Barry scrubs a hand over his face and up into his hair, perched on the side of the bed with his feet on the cold floor. “I have to,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “Joe will start to get suspicious if I’m not there in the mornings.”

“So let him,” Len grumbles, his hand coming over to curl around Barry’s hip, thumb pressing slow, lazy circles into the small of Barry’s back. He’s so warm and pliant and unlike his normal, infuriatingly cocky self that Barry almost lies back and curls into him the way he wants to. Instead he stands and immediately misses the heavy weight of Len’s hand on him. He pulls on boxers and a pair of Len’s sweatpants, at which Len stirs and opens his eyes.

“Those’re mine,” he says tiredly, but he doesn’t sound annoyed.

Barry shrugs. “So? They’re comfortable and they look good on me.”

Len lifts his shoulder and hums. “Well. Yeah.”

“I’ll bring them back tonight,” Barry assures him, and Len’s eyes roam over Barry, standing there shirtless and in Len’s pants.

“Only if you’re wearing them.”

Barry grins and then Len’s rolling onto his back, a hand coming up to rest on his stomach, and Barry’s eyes are immediately drawn to the dark, mouth-shaped bruise that’s bitten into his collarbone. Barry walks over with Len’s curiously expectant eyes on him, and he leans down to press his lips gently to the bruise.

“Have fun covering that,” he grins into Len’s skin before moving up to kiss him.

“None of my marks stay on you,” Len says when he pulls back. “How is that fair?”

Barry shrugs and heads for the door. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Yeah, three weeks can definitely change a lot.

+

He skids to a stop on the front step of the West house. It’s nearing 7 in the morning, so he’s hoping against hope that Joe has already left for the precinct. He cracks the door open as slowly and quietly as he can and tiptoes inside.

He’s nearly to the stairs, intent on crawling into his own bed and getting a few more hours’ sleep, when Joe’s voice freezes him mid-step.

“You know, you don’t have to sneak in anymore.”

Barry closes his eyes and curses under his breath before turning and giving Joe a sheepish smile. Joe’s already dressed for work, dress shirt neatly buttoned and gun holstered at his hip. He takes a sip of his coffee and returns Barry’s smile.

“So, what’s his name?” Joe probes.

Barry’s smile falters, his eyebrow quirking at Joe’s intuition. “How’d you know?”

Joe gestures in Barry’s general direction. “Those aren’t your sweatpants,” he explains, and Barry stares at him, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. He has to remind himself that Joe doesn’t know— _can’t_ know—exactly whose apartment he’s returning from.

“Uh, I—um. He’s—” _Leonard Snart,_ he doesn’t say—blanches at the very _idea_ —and Joe chuckles.

“Yeah, alright. You don’t have to tell me,” he says. He raises his cup to his lips again, the small, sincere smile never leaving his face when he says, “’M happy for you, Bar.”

Barry’s smile is genuine but he can’t help but feel that there’s no way Joe would say that if he knew the truth. He hopes he hides his guilt well when he says, “I—thanks Joe.”

Later, when Joe’s off to work and Barry’s comfortably curled around his own pillows, he slips a hand into the pocket of Len’s sweatpants and falls asleep smiling. He dreams of scratchy stubble and the brush of fingers on his hips, and a fridge stocked full of Coronas.

**Author's Note:**

> Whenever I'm writing these two, I listen almost exclusively to FOB's Folie A Deux to get into the feel of the headcanon I have for this relationship. Feel free to have a listen if you're interested, it's a killer album and for some reason has a strong ColdFlash vibe for me.
> 
> Expect more filler drabbles like this. Thanks for all the love you guys, you all rule. <3


End file.
